Chapter 8 - The Ultimatum
An hour later, the shattered glass had been swept away, the security detail had been doubled, and the atmosphere inside the Vain estate crackled with suppressed electricity.
In the private library on the third floor, Gabriel stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, staring out over the gray skyline of Chicago as heavy snow began to blanket the streets.
A secure laptop on his desk beeped sharply, signaling an incoming encrypted video transmission.
Gabriel turned around, walked over to the desk, and hit accept.
The screen flickered to life, revealing the smug, sharp-featured face of Victor Morales sitting in a dimly lit cigar lounge in downtown Chicago. Morales was swirling a glass of amber whiskey, smiling lazily into the camera.
“Gabriel,” Morales purred, his voice dripping with false camaraderie. “I hear your morning was a bit... eventful. Breaking glass is terrible for property value, you know.”
Gabriel sat down in his high-backed leather chair, his face entirely unreadable. “You sent amateurs, Victor. That was your first mistake.”
“They were just messengers,” Morales laughed lightly. “To remind you that your little empire is getting soft, Vain. You’re spending your time playing nursemaid to a cleaning lady and her sick brother while your territory slips away.”
“My territory is secure,” Gabriel replied smoothly. “Your accounts, however, are not.”
Morales’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second. “What are you talking about?”
“While your men were busy shooting up my foyer, my legal team was busy executing a comprehensive freeze on every shell company you operate through the Harbor Glen commercial trust,” Gabriel said calmly, tapping a key on his desk. “Your offshore liquidity is gone, Victor. Your assets have been seized by federal authorities acting on a comprehensive financial dossier provided by Vale & Hart.”
Morales slammed his whiskey glass down onto the table, the glass cracking from the impact. His smug expression vanished, replaced by an ugly, mask-off rage. “You son of a bitch! You set a trap!”
“You walked into it,” Gabriel said coldly. “You threatened my staff, you violated my home, and you underestimated what I am willing to spend to protect my investments. You have twenty-four hours to clear out of Chicago, Victor. If I see your face or hear your name anywhere in this city tomorrow, federal marshals won't be the ones coming for you.”
The video feed cut out abruptly with a sharp click.
Gabriel leaned back in his chair, exhaling a slow, steady breath. The immediate threat of Victor Morales had been neutralized, but he knew the underworld never truly slept.
The intercom on his desk buzzed.
May you like
“Mr. Vain,” Mrs. Gable’s voice came through. “Miss Harper is downstairs. She insists on speaking with you before she leaves for the night.”
Gabriel rubbed his temples, a faint smile touching his lips. “Send her up.”
